False Miracles
by pari106
Summary: P, All, P/T. I've story I've been working on for a while and that is still in progress. Away missions gone wrong, alien abduction, amnesia, and all that good stuff. Read to find out more!
1. Default Chapter

"False Miracles"  
By Pari106  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.pari106.homestead.com/index2.html  
  
Disclaimer: Voyager and everything related to her belong to Paramount  
and Viacom.   
  
Author's Note: This is a story I've been working on for a while...and is still in progress. Rated G (I guess).   
I don't want to give to much of it away, so don't worry about a summary and get on with the reading and   
reviewing already :)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
False Miracles  
Prologue  
  
  
  
  
He awoke slowly. In a way it was like being underwater and swimming towards the surface with his limbs   
weighted. He could sense the bright light behind his closed eyelids, just past the surface; could hear voices   
filtering through the haze that clouded his mind. Yet he couldn't quite reach them.  
  
"...remember anything? How can you guarantee he'll be able to function under these circumstances?"  
  
"I can't. I can't even guarantee he'll be capable of forming intelligible speech. I warned you from the very   
beginning that I couldn't give you any guarantees."  
  
"Doctor..."  
  
"No. I'll examine him once he's regained consciousness, and I will truly hope that I will find all is well, but   
until then I will not give you a bunch of empty promises that I'm not sure I can keep."   
  
"But how long will that be? Can't you just wake him now?"  
  
That voice was female, though he didn't know how he knew that - or why the voice seemed somehow   
familiar to him, but he struggled to remember - struggled to open his eyes and turn them towards the   
disembodied voices that argued around him. The pain in doing so was great, but he did not relax.  
  
The voice the others had referred to as 'Doctor' made an incredulous sound. "Wake him?" he scoffed. "I'm   
not even sure what this man's condition will be when - or should I say if - he regains consciousness on his   
own. There's no telling what the damage could be if we rushed things..."  
  
"But you can't be sure there will even be any damage. Isn't there anything you can do?"  
  
The doctor's voice seemed strained; tired. But the man hardly heard them as he concentrated on his own   
task of struggling back to consciousness. He grimaced as the pain in his temples increased. If he could just   
move something, anything. A hand, his mouth, an eye lash...  
  
"Darmask..." the doctor was saying, "Now is not the time to grow impatient. We must be extremely   
cautious in these matters. We must simply wait..."  
  
"I am tired of waiting!" said the woman. "Haven't we waited long enough? I want to talk to him now ..."  
  
"Lisave..." Darmask began to soothe.  
  
Doctor Bree'aje stepped back from his younger companions, allowing them to talk passionately amongst   
themselves. He massaged the tension from the bridge of his nose, arranging the folds of his drab, gray robes   
and sighing heavily as he sat upon a nearby stool.   
  
What had compelled him to get involved in this madness? What, indeed, besides the great stakes that hung   
in the balance - the excuse he continually gave himself in order to justify his participation in this insanity. It   
was an excuse even he was no longer buying.   
  
He looked to the thin, cloth partition that separated their patient's bed from the rest of the small sitting   
room. What was the use of any of it anyhow? For all he knew the man behind that screen was brain dead.   
After all that his mind had endured he'd have to be blessed with a miracle not to be...  
  
Doctor Bree'aje allowed his attention to drift back towards the couple arguing near the entrance to his   
hut...until a resounding crash from the other side of his small living space stilled them all.  
  
Yes! With a grunt of triumph and pain, he managed to roll to his side, fighting the wave of nausea and   
dizziness that accompanied that simple movement. He might not have even realized that he'd continued to   
roll - straight off the bed - if he hadn't heard the crash, as well. However, he did hear it - as if from a   
distance: the rustle of bed sheets as he rolled off of them, the clatter of medical utensils as his body fell into   
an instrument tray on its way to the floor, the thud of a body hitting the ground...and then the sound of   
footsteps and of voices as the three individuals he'd heard arguing before came rushing to his side.   
  
"What happened! Oh, great Giving-Ones, is he okay?"  
  
"Come on, Darmask. Give me a hand with him will you?"  
  
"See! See? I told you it was time to wake him!"  
  
He no more felt it as the two men lifted him back to his bed than he had when he'd hit the ground, but he   
wasn't concerned at the moment with such things. Sharp blue eyes, dulled by his current sorry state, fixed   
on their reflection in the shiny, overturned utensil tray by which he'd fallen. His reflection was very similar   
in appearance to that of his companions: fair hair; blue, blue eyes with light olive pupils; a light-lavender   
complexion and a pronounced bone structure in his brow and jaw line. The bridge of his nose and the bones   
around his eyes were ridged. It was the common appearance of a member of his species, he knew.   
Somehow, however, his reflection did not seem common to him...it frightened him, terribly.  
  
Suddenly, he began to struggle as Darmask and the Doctor laid him gently on his bed. His mouth faltered at   
first, but eventually he spoke.  
  
"Wh-what...Where? Where am I? Who are you?"  
  
His words seemed to hit his companions like a physical blow. The doctor only peered at him through sad,   
knowing eyes, but Darmask and the woman...Lisave?...seemed horrified. He saw tears welling up in the   
small female's wide aqua eyes. At least he thought he did - concentrating on any one thing was difficult and   
worsened the pain in his temples. And why couldn't he seem to focus on anything a few feet past his face?  
  
"Something's wrong!" the woman shrieked. "What's wrong with him? What does he mean who am I?"   
  
Darmask was shaking is head, his voice low. "It didn't work. It just didn't work."  
  
The doctor threw them both scathing looks before turning back to his patient.  
  
"Nonsense," he said, his voice quiet and soothing - no doubt for his patient's benefit. The man wondered if   
they even knew he could understand what they were saying. "He's moving, he's speaking. That's an   
excellent sign. A little memory loss is nothing - and it could be temporary."  
  
He leaned in a little closer to the man. "Can you remember anything, my friend? Do you know how you got   
here?"   
  
The man's expression remained blank, but the doctor schooled his features not to reveal any of his concern   
or disappointment.  
  
The man grimaced, bringing a shaking hand up to his aching head.  
  
From somewhere he heard a woman's sobbing.  
  
"What about your name?" the doctor continued, encouraging. "Can you at least remember your name?"   
  
Tears welled in the young man's eyes with the effort that remembering required - and still the details of his   
life eluded him, flittering around the edges of his awareness. But this last question seemed to snatch one of   
those elusive beings from the fold - for once the man had an answer.  
  
"Tom..." he tried, testing the word on his tongue. It sounded right. Didn't it?  
  
"Tom?" The Doctor seemed to be waiting for more - and it came to Tom almost without thought.  
  
"Paris," he said, realizing it was true. "My name is Tom Paris....Doctor. Doctor Thomas Paris." The title   
came to him just as the name had, but there was something wrong with that, wasn't there? Was he a doctor?   
But there was no time to further his pondering. Suddenly the young woman, Lisave, had launched herself at   
his side.  
  
"Oh, Tom! Tom, you do remember!" With tears still running down her cheeks, the woman clung to his side,   
and again Tom had the odd feeling that he should somehow know this Lisave. There was something in her   
eyes that made the feeling grow. His puzzlement worsened the dizziness that had his head spinning.  
  
Over Lisave's shoulder, Tom could just make out Darmask and the Doctor's smiling faces.   
  
"Well, Dr. Paris. May I be the first - after your wife, of course - to say...welcome home."  
  
Tom didn't know what to think of the welcome, or how to respond. Those words floated around his   
muddled mind. Dr. Paris...wife...home...  
  
Then a response was impossible because unconsciousness claimed him once again.  
  
"...welcome home..."  



	2. Waiting

**** **** **** ****  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
  
  
"...throughout the next several weeks, if our calculations are correct," Captain Kathryn Janeway was saying   
to the senior officers assembled around her, when an Ensign suddenly came over the comm system alerting   
to the fact that they'd reached the rendezvous coordinates.  
  
"But enough of that," she continued once she'd spoken with the Ensign. "Let's go welcome our men home,   
shall we? And hope they have some good news for us." She smiled and stood - effectively ending the   
debriefing and dismissing all officers present. One by one they filed out onto the bridge, taking their places   
- with only Lt. Torres, her chief of Engineering, and Seven leaving on the turbolift for other duty stations.   
  
Kathryn had barely just taken her seat in the center of the bridge when Ensign Kim called out from his   
place at the Opps console, his voice laced with concern.   
  
"Captain, we've reached the rendezvous coordinates, but I'm showing no signs of the shuttlecraft in the   
vicinity."   
  
Captain Janeway immediately frowned and exchanged a worried look with her first officer, Commander   
Chakotay.   
  
"That's not like Tom," she heard herself commenting. And it wasn't. A lot of other pilots might have gotten   
delayed, or might have miscalculated the necessary departure time in order to make the rendezvous   
coordinates on time - but not her Chief Pilot. To Tom Paris, flight was like the ability to draw breath. He   
didn't get delayed; he didn't miscalculate. And he didn't miss a rendezvous....unless something was very   
wrong.   
  
Janeway knew exactly what procedures to follow. "Lt. Tuvok, scan the moon we left Lieutenant Paris and   
Ensign Darber to investigate. Are you getting any signs of the shuttlecraft?"  
  
As she might have expected, Tuvok already had the results of his scans ready before she'd asked for them.   
His response came from the Security console in his cool, Vulcan monotone. "There are no signs of the   
shuttlecraft on either of the two moons in this vicinity. Nor is there any sign of the missing crewmen. I   
must also regretfully inform you that I am not picking up any energy emissions that might lead us to where   
the shuttlecraft was last headed."   
  
Janeway's lips curled in a slight smile at Tuvok's usual, blessed efficiency, but her smile disappeared   
behind a slight sigh of frustration as she rose from her seat, placing her hands on her hips.   
  
Well, whatever this situation was it couldn't be good - and it would definitely take them out of there way.   
  
"Harry, what's the nearest M-class planet?"   
  
Ensign Kim inputted a few standard commands at his console, then looked up. "There's an M-class planet   
relatively close to here - only a parsec away."  
  
Janeway nodded. "Give Lt. Carter the coordinates," she ordered, referring to the officer currently at the   
conn. Then to the aforementioned lieutenant: "Carter, take us in at Warp 2."  
  
"Aye, Captain."   
  
Then Kathryn once again took her seat and prepared...to wait.  
**** **** **** ****  
  
If there was one thing he was tired of - it was waiting.   
  
Tom Paris had been waiting for answers now for two weeks - and he was tired of the responses he kept   
getting to his questions.   
  
It would end today, he promised himself, standing a bit straighter now with the strength of the   
determination he poured into that promise. It wasn't an easy stance to take, but Tom refused to let himself   
relax his posture. He forced himself to put only as much of his weight as was absolutely necessary on the   
cane that was now forever at his side. And he staunchly ignored the urge to reach up and try to massage   
away the ache that throbbed in his temples and behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. Instead he stared,   
resolute, out the window by which he stood - staring out as far as his limited eyesight would allow.   
  
When the door behind him quietly opened, and Dr. Bree'aje came in carrying his usual tray of foods and   
medicines, Tom turned with the practiced calm and ease of a man who had had to learn to move slowly and   
carefully in order to keep his balance. He didn't return the doctor's kind smile and friendly greeting.  
  
"Good morning, Tom. You're looking much better today. I reckon that leg of yours should just about be   
completely healed by now, don't you?"   
  
The doctor went about unloading his tray, but Tom only stared at the older man's back for a moment. His   
leg would never be 'completely healed' - they both knew that. There would always be a modicum of pain   
and difficulty in movement, that was simply a fact. It had just been damaged too badly in 'the accident' to   
be fixed. At least, to be fixed by their primitive medicines...and why was it that he thought like that   
anyhow? Their medicines. He was one of 'them' wasn't he? It was one of those thoughts that always popped   
up at the most unexpected times and that kept him from truly trusting this man who'd cared for him. Kept   
him from trusting the answers he and the others kept giving him for what had happened to him --for who he   
was.   
  
"Why have I been brought here? What happened to my memory? Is the accident that injured my leg and my   
eyes the same one responsible for my memory loss?" Tom demanded, not hesitating a moment this time.  
  
The doctor stood up rather well under the angry young man's barrage of questions, but his eyes were tired   
and his smile was sad as he turned away from the table he'd been preparing. He sighed and took a seat.   
  
"You just can't begin a day with a simple 'good morning', can you?"  
  
Tom walked - slowly and carefully - to stand before the older man. "That's not going to work, you know?"   
he said. "I'm not going to feel guilty for wanting some answers to my questions. You've obviously done a   
lot to help me. You've probably saved my life and I thank you for that. But that doesn't change the fact that   
I need to know..."  
  
"You need to know something that I can't tell you!" the doctor suddenly interjected, then looked apologetic.   
"Tom...you need to know where your life has gone...and how to get it back, but that's just something I can't   
help you with. There aren't any easy answers in amnesia cases like yours." He met Tom's eyes with an   
intense look. "Especially when you refuse to believe the answers that I can give you."  
  
"Then why do you keep giving me false ones!" The doctor sighed again, and seemed as though he might   
turn away, but Tom's caught his arm with the hand opposite his cane.   
  
"Euran..." Tom tried to craft a clever explanation for why he knew the life they kept telling him was his just   
couldn't be...but he knew there was no explanation. He couldn't remember his life - any of it. Therefore, he   
couldn't remember if anything he'd been told was actually true or not. But he just felt that the story they'd   
given him was wrong. Felt it so deep and so strong that he couldn't ignore those feelings. He struggled with   
a way to make this man who'd helped him and who, in other circumstances, he might have considered a   
friend, understand.  
  
"Euran, I can't be who you all keep telling me I am. I'm not a skilled doctor..."  
  
"Tom, you're the most talented doctor in this village! You looked over the Givers' scrolls with me, took the   
tests. You scored even higher than I did." The doctor laughed slightly at this. "Whatever else you've   
forgotten, you've remembered you're calling."   
  
Tom nearly screamed in frustration. "But this isn't it! Don't you see that? A doctor...how can you tell me   
I'm the most talented doctor in this village when I can feel, I can feel that that is wrong?"  
  
"Tom.."  
  
But Tom shied away from Euran, dropping into a nearby chair. This was not going any better than any   
other morning these last two weeks. He let out a deep breath and nearly groaned at the pounding in his   
head. He rested his head in his hands, exhausted.   
  
"And that's not all - all of this feels wrong to me. You tell me I've lived my whole life here, that I'm married   
to Lisave..."  
  
Euran Bree'aje moved to sit opposite his troubled ward. "She's been very worried about you, Tom. These   
last couple of weeks has been torture for her. Especially after all she's been through - your disappearance,   
not knowing whether or not you'd recover..."  
  
Tom's frustrated growl brought Euran out of his thoughts with a start.   
  
"I don't even know her! Don't you think if I'd been married to her for six years that I'd at least feel like I   
knew her?"  
  
"But you were married to her, Tom. And you told me yourself you felt as though she were familiar in some   
way..."  
  
"Well, that's not enough."  
  
"And what would be? Just what would convince you that your entire life hasn't been just one big   
fabrication?"  
  
Tom winced, knowing that - when said like that - his entire stubborn refusal to accept himself as they saw   
him sounded ludicrous. But he just couldn't let go of those instinctual feelings, could he? Not just like that.   
He couldn't even look at himself in the mirror without getting an eerie feeling that something was wrong.   
He unconsciously rubbed at the ridges that curved about his eyes and met Euran's stare.  
  
"What if I could see them again."  
  
And with those words, Dr. Bree'aje visibly paled. "Tom, you can't possibly mean that..."  
Tom had risen, and was once again standing at his window.   
  
"I know you've said that they're the ones responsible for this. That they abducted me, scrambled my   
memory. But I can't know that. I can't know it in my heart without some proof."  
  
"Some proof," Bree'aje repeated sadly, and shook his head. "Tom I would think that the fact that you are   
here, surrounded by friends who have cared for you and worried about you..." Tom couldn't ignore the stab   
of guilt that came with those words "...would be more than proof enough. Tom, you have no reason - other   
than simply not remembering that what we've told you is true - to think that those...those aliens would do   
anything other than shoot you on sight the next time they so much as saw you."   
  
Tom turned away, hearing some truth in Euran's words, but knowing that what Euran was saying was not   
entirely true. He did have another reason to seek out these mysterious abductors of his - he did have a   
reason to believe that his answers lay with them. His reasons lay with the alien who was found, dead, in the   
same place where he'd been left; in the strange sense of...something...familiarity?...he felt when he saw the   
alien's face. In the odd feeling of loss and anger he felt, for just a moment, upon learning that the man was   
dead, before those feelings disappeared - along with whatever glimpse they might have given him of his   
lost memory. He did have a reason, however weak, to take the risk that Dr. Bree'aje believed was involved   
with seeking out these alien 'enemies' to his people. But something kept him from telling the doctor that.  
  
"Tom..." Euran said then, from the door, and Tom turned to see him waiting. "Why don't you come with   
me?"   
  
Tom followed Euran out of the small domicile where he'd been staying, and into the bright morning   
sunshine. He followed the doctor, unseeingly, for several moments - lost in thought, and not being able to   
see far enough ahead of them to determine their destination, anyhow.   
  
Euran stopped when they reached a huge, dome-shaped brown tent at the edge of the village, opening its   
flap entrance for Tom, who entered before he even realized what this place was. Once he did, he stopped   
right where he stood, causing Dr. Bree'aje to nearly bump into him from behind.   
  
This was the infirmary - the place they took the villagers infected with the plague that had swept through   
their people nearly a year ago - ...and it was horrific.  
  
Euran had told Tom about the plague, and its victims. But what he'd pictured as several hundred sick   
looked more like several thousand. Men, women, and children lay in endless rows of cots, their lilac   
complexions turned nearly white; their facial ridges looking starkly pronounced in their gaunt faces; their   
closed eyes seeming almost totally sunken in their heads.   
  
Tom took one look at the sick and suffering...and it was like a small light had gone on in the dark place in   
his mind where his memory should have been.  
  
Euran saw the look on Tom's face; the stillness that entered his posture, and was at once concerned.  
  
"Perhaps this was too soon..."  
  
But When Tom turned towards him, the look in his eyes stilled him - his words even more so.  
  
Tom said, "I remember..."  
  
  



	3. Remember?

**** **** **** ****  
  
  
Chapter Two  
  
  
Dr. Euran Bree'aje heard the younger man's words and then - after grasping their meaning - could only   
hear the sound of his own heartbeat for several moments. He grasped Tom's arm in a steady grip.  
  
"You said you remember....what exactly? How much?"  
  
Tom came out of the reverie into which he'd slipped, wincing at the hope and anxiety he heard in his older   
companion's words.  
  
"I'm sorry," he began again. "Not much. I don't remember any more about myself. But I remember ...."   
Tom's gaze went back to the patients that filled the infirmary tent, feeling a slight chill at the images he saw   
and also remembered.   
  
Euran watched him very closely. "Yes?"  
  
"I remember treating the patients. I remember..." Tom stopped again, his repetitive words catching in his   
throat. Actually, he'd rather not repeat what he'd remembered. The doctor had told him how vicious this   
plague really was - but only his own regained memory could bring the truth of that viciousness home to   
him. He remembered treating patients...but not curing them. Not one.   
  
He met Euran's at once sympathetic eyes and knew he needn't worry about finishing the explanation he'd   
begun. Doctor Bree'aje had worked with this sickness, as well. He understood...only too well.   
  
The small portion of memory that Tom had regained was less than the doctor would have liked...but   
enough to give him hope. "Tom, you realize what an important step this is towards moving on from the   
accident, don't you? You're starting to remember again...to remember your life here."  
  
"Euran..."  
  
"At least you can no longer deny the fact that you are, indeed, the doctor that I've been telling you that you   
are. You've even remembered for yourself having treated your patients."  
  
"Well, yes..." Tom looked - and was - puzzled. He did remember...but why didn't that make him feel any   
better about his doubts?  
  
"Tom. I know you still don't remember your life...and I can tell you still don't believe you're going to   
remember that the things that I've told you are true. But doesn't remembering a little of it - just a little -   
make you want to give it a chance?" Euran's words were pleading. "Give it a chance, Tom. Give yourself a   
chance. You may not remember your life, but it's a good life, and it needs you. They need you. They need   
the doctor who's given them hope, and they're never going to get him back if you don't stop refusing to   
even try and accept your memory as it comes back to you."   
  
Tom looked back at the sea of prone bodies before him.   
  
"Won't you atleast try?"   
  
Tom looked at the nearest patient's sleeping profile - it was the small face of a girl of about 8 or 9 years old.   
He imagined what her eyes must have looked like healthy - bright and inquisitive; the bright aqua that was   
characteristic of their species. He knew what those eyes would look like now - dull and sad; a pale, pale   
blue - almost gray. Unbidden, images came to mind of other men, women, and children he'd seen afflicted   
with this little girl's sickness - of their eyes, open and lifeless - devoid of all color and all consciousness.   
And he realized he'd give anything not to see those eyes in the pretty little face of this child who he didn't   
even know.   
  
"Yes, I'll try."   
  
**** **** **** ****  
  
Outside her ready room's viewport, the stars twinkled bright and clear; the purple-atmosphered planet   
around which they were in orbit, hovered nearby. Kathryn Janeway stared out at the quiet view before   
her...and tried to remove the expression of frustrated dismay from her face. However, it was not easy to do   
so.  
  
It had now been a week since Lieutenant Paris and Ensign Darber had gone missing - and at the moment   
she felt no closer to finding them than she had at the moment she had realized something had gone wrong.   
That M-class planet they'd gone to explore had revealed nothing. And so they had gone to the next closest   
such planet in the vicinity...and then headed towards the next.   
  
It was hard not to feel as though the search were a futile effort. After all, as far as they knew, their crewmen   
could be anywhere in the universe...and it was a big universe. Too big to search planet by planet with any   
real hope of success.  
  
She could tell that the worry and the uncertainty were starting to wear on them all. Chakotay, as the ship's   
unofficial counselor, had been inundated with requests for his services by the friends and co-workers of   
Joseph Darber. And she knew that Tuvok had worked with both officers. You could even say (though   
Kathryn had to smile imagining what Tuvok would have to say about this) that Tuvok and Tom were good   
friends. But, of course, Tuvok, at his most Vulcan, could hardly be expected to admit that he 'missed' the   
absent members of their little family. Which would mean that he would also refuse to admit...if she called   
him on it...that that brief look of concern she thought she'd seen in his eyes when they'd learned their   
officers weren't on the last planet had ever existed. But she wouldn't call him on it. He'd probably explain it   
away as frustration with the fact that there wasn't even the slightest trace of Paris and Darber for them to go   
by. Which was probably true, too. To think that Paris and Darber had simply disappeared into thin air   
would be illogical...and Vulcans hate that.   
  
As for herself, Captain Janeway wasn't sure whether she should be angry with the universe (for hiding her   
officers from her) or angry with herself for such a thing even happening. She was their captain; the self-  
appointed matriarch of their clan, and with the affection she felt for her officers, as members of that clan, it   
was hard not to take it personally when something happened to one of them. This was particularly true in   
reference to Tom Paris, with whom she'd formed a friendship during their seven years of service together.   
They shared a lot in common, she and Tom - both being the children of Admirals; both being proteges, in   
one way or another - of Admiral Owen Paris. And they shared an important working relationship as well -   
the relationship between a starship captain and her pilot. If something did happen to Tom and Joseph, she   
would feel the loss quite personally, indeed.  
  
The waiting was gruesome. That morning they'd been waiting for the slightest sign that the new Delta Flyer   
hadn't just vanished, taking its crew with it. Now Kathryn curled up on her couch and rested her chin in her   
hands, thinking how just this morning she'd thought she'd give anything just to have that waiting over...to   
finally have that sign. But she'd been wrong, because seven hours ago they'd found that sign - they'd found   
the wreckage of a spacecraft that had been so utterly blown apart it was unrecognizable as being the Flyer   
or anything else. Something about the atmosphere of that planet they were in orbit of kept their scanners   
from being able to recognize the wreckage as being from the Flyer or not, as well. And so now they were   
waiting, not for a sign of their crewmen, but for a sign that this was not their crewmen's shuttle - and for the   
results of a scan of the planet below. And this brand of waiting was much, much worse.   
  
Kathryn drew herself up, checking her chronometer and learning that she had fifteen minutes until the   
senior staff meeting was scheduled to begin. Looking past her chronometer, and back out at the stars, she   
thought about that morning on the bridge, when Ensign Kim had reported he'd picked up something - not   
knowing exactly what - just ahead of them before the planet. She'd ordered "On screen" without even   
thinking about it, but when the image of that wreckage had appeared...well, you could have cut the silence   
that permeated that bridge with a knife. To see those pieces of hull and twisted metal and to think that Paris   
and Darber were in there when it came apart...it didn't bear thinking about.   
  
And yet Kathryn Janeway did think about it...because she was thinking about Ensign Kim and Lieutenant   
Torres-Paris, and she knew that they were undoubtedly thinking of nothing else. Harry Kim's relationship   
to Tom could better be categorized as brotherhood than friendship, and Janeway wasn't sure whether she   
should be pleased or concerned that it was he, as her Opps officer, who was in charge of analyzing the   
debris they'd found and scanning the planet below. As Tom's best friend, he'd be more dedicated than most   
to finding the missing crewmen...and Kathryn guessed that doing something helpful and constructive would   
be much more preferable to Harry than simply sitting back and worrying. But still, if there was bad news to   
be found in that wreckage out there, then Harry would be the one to find it, and Kathryn would hate having   
to live with the fact that she'd been the one to put him in his unenviable position, having given him his   
assignment.   
  
As for B'Elanna Torres-Paris...well, Captain Janeway had a feeling that if she checked the replicator logs at   
the end of the month she'd see a lot of activity in B'Elanna and Tom's account - replacements for all the   
things B'Elanna was undoubtedly hurling around their quarters in angry abandon. Of course, those logs   
might not be as full as they once were whenever B'Elanna got worried about or angry with Paris - she'd   
become a bit more patient and reserved in her 'delicate condition'. And then Kathryn almost laughed,   
despite the situation, at her use of the term 'delicate condition' to describe B'Elanna's pregnancy. She truly   
loved the young woman...but it was hard to think of someone as 'delicate' when you knew they'd beaten a   
Vulcan under the influence of pon-farr in hand-to-hand combat, fair and square. Then Kathryn's humor   
became tempered as she hoped that her volatile Chief Engineer stayed angry. B'Elanna angry was B'Elanna   
hopeful; it was B'Elanna expecting Tom to come home so she could severely threaten his life for keeping   
her worried...and then pull him into a passionate embrace so she could tell him never to do it again. But if   
B'Elanna wasn't angry...well, it could be a sign that she'd stopped hoping. And it had only been a week - but   
it had been a long week; one empty of any lead on Tom's whereabouts, and any reason to hope that one   
would be forthcoming. It's easy to give up hope under circumstances like those. And Kathryn didn't want   
B'Elanna giving up hope. She knew that she and Tom loved each other with a passion just as volatile as   
their tempers. If Tom were to be lost to them....it would break B'Elanna's heart in a way Kathryn didn't   
think could heal. And, sure, as Starfleet officers, she knew the day could come that they would have to face   
that situation...'But, God, how I don't want today to be that day!' she thought to herself.   
  
Janeway checked her chronometer again and was about to leave for the staff meeting when her commbadge   
chirped. She hesitated only a moment before responding.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Captain," came over the computer in Tuvok's voice, "Mr. Kim has finished his analysis of the debris. He   
will report his findings at the staff meeting."   
  
Kathryn gave a little start. 'So this is it; the moment of truth.' For once she was almost sorry to hear Tuvok's   
voice, whose monotone did not betray his emotions as a human's voice would. She wanted to know what to   
expect - good news or bad?   
  
"Very well, Commander. I will be right there. Janeway, out."  
  
A knot of tension and anticipation was building in the Captain's stomach, and as she straightened her   
uniform she resisted the urge to rub her belly, as though trying to massage it away. Instead she took a deep   
breath, squared her shoulders, and headed for the meeting.  
  
She prayed that by this time tomorrow she'd still be in her ready room waiting for answers...and not dressed   
in formal attire, performing a funeral service.  
  



	4. the Search

**** **** **** ****  
  
  
Chapter Three  
  
  
When Harry Kim stood up during the senior staff meeting to give his report you could have heard the   
proverbial pin drop. The anticipation that filled the briefing room was palpable.  
  
Harry didn't keep them waiting.  
  
"We've analyzed the debris we found this morning...and some of it was from the Delta Flyer..."  
  
Silence permeated the air..there were a couple of sharp intakes of breath from around the table...Janeway   
felt her hands tighten their grip on the armrests of her chair...  
  
"But only some of it," Kim continued. "Not enough for us to believe that it was destroyed here."  
  
...And as simply as that at least an ounce of the tension that had blanketed the room disappeared. It was as   
if their collective breath had been held...and was now released.  
  
"So...you're saying the Delta Flyer wasn't destroyed?" That was from B'Elanna - still a bit hesitant.   
  
Harry managed a small smile. "If it was - it wasn't destroyed here."   
  
B'Elanna just looked at him a moment...and then smiled. Atleast, it could have been a smile...to Janeway it   
looked more like a cross between a smile and a baring of fangs.  
  
"So...should I kill you now, Starfleet, or should I wait till the next time you get me going like that, and then   
really slaughter you."   
  
Mild laughter spread through the room and yet a little more of the lingering tension dissipated.  
  
"Well," said the Captain, "Since Harry is in charge of scanning that planet, I suppose I'll have to ask you to   
wait till next time, B'Elanna." Harry smiled apologetically and there were a few more chuckles.  
  
"Which brings us to the next topic on the agenda," Janeway continued, moving on. "What can you tell us   
about that planet, Ensign Kim?"   
  
"Well, it seems to be M-Class. There are definitely some humanoid life signs down there, but with the   
atmospheric interference we still can't determine just what kind of humanoid life it is. Whoever's down   
there - it's a post-warp civilization. At least, the ship whose debris we found had warp capabilities, and our   
scanners have managed to pick up large amounts of the materials that were used in the components of the   
ship down on the planet. But, of course, we haven't seen any ships coming or leaving the planet since we   
got here, and we haven't gotten any responses to our hails, so we can't be sure that that ship was actually   
from here."  
  
"Have you picked up any sign of the Flyer on the planet?"  
  
Kim's look was - again - apologetic. "No. We still can't get past that atmospheric interference. The only   
reason we even picked up those materials I mentioned - and the life signs - is that the materials exist in such   
a large quantity, and the planet's population is scattered, but considerable."  
  
"Therefore you wouldn't be able to pick up any signs of Paris or Darber if they're on the planet, either."   
Janeway nodded at Kim, motioning him to take his seat. "Good work, Mr. Kim."  
  
Janeway straightened in her seat, steepling her hands on the table before her. Her officers seemed to come   
to attention, as well, recognizing this as her okay-here's-the-plan posture.   
  
"Well, since our scanners are, obviously, not going to be of any help to us, due to the atmospheric   
interference, we'll have to take a shuttle down to the planet; do a scan that way. Commander Chakotay, do   
you think you could get a shuttle close enough to the planet to do a scan without getting close enough to   
alert the natives? They may very well be post-warp, but we can't be certain. I don't want to take the chance   
of giving them any surprises."  
  
Chakotay nodded. "If they don't have warp capability, then it's a safe bet that they don't have the ability to   
detect anyone that does. I think I can get in and out without causing any reports of UFOs to start popping   
up around the planet."   
  
Janeway shared a smile with her XO. "Good." She looked around the table at her officers, preparing to   
chose who she should send to help with the scans. She could send Harry, but she suddenly thought, why not   
B'Elanna? As her Chief Engineer got further along in her pregnancy she began going on less and less away   
missions - and Kathryn knew Chakotay had re-delegated some of her engineering duties to Joe Carey, as   
well. No doubt the lighter workload was killing B'Elanna - especially now, considering the situation. She   
would probably benefit from the chance to get out there and do something. And, besides, she wasn't that far   
along in the pregnancy that she was officially disqualified from away duties. Janeway made her decision.  
  
"Take B'Elanna with you to help with the scans," she said, and secretly smiled at the look of surprise and   
pleasure that earned her from B'Elanna's direction.   
  
The Captain looked around the table once again, feeling much better now that they had a bit of a better   
plan, and seeing from the looks on the faces of her officers that the feeling was mutual.  
  
"If that's it then...let's get out there and get to it. And let's hope there's some good news waiting for us down   
there on that planet. Dismissed."  



	5. a happy little family

**** **** **** ****  
  
Chapter Four  
  
Keeping a low profile on the planet proved easier than Chakotay had imagined. It was not the planet or its   
natives', however, that gave this mission a degree of difficulty - it was his companion in the shuttle. As   
always, B'Elanna was efficient and focused. She performed each scan with the quick, practiced skill of a   
brilliant engineer. She didn't cry; she didn't complain. She didn't even bother to mention what they already   
knew - that the most important person in her life was stranded down there, perhaps dead, and that if he   
was...  
  
Well, she just didn't mention it.  
  
But Chakotay knew her emotions, all the same - he saw each and every one of them cross across her   
features - the hope she felt when they came across a possible lead, the frustration and the despair when that   
lead panned out. And through it all, a love that wouldn't allow her to rest until her mate was safely with her   
once again. That love was so strong, it even eclipsed her anger - anger at the unfair fates that kept trying to   
tear her and Tom apart. And that was quite an accomplishment - B'Elanna's anger was not easily eclipsed.   
And therein lay Chakotay's problem - B'Elanna's emotions. She was handling them just fine. It was   
Chakotay who found the entire shuttle ride an ordeal as he watched his oldest friend struggle to maintain a   
balance between her personal feelings and her professional duty.  
  
Chakotay smiled, just slightly. And just imagine - it was *Tom Paris* that had her so worked up.  
  
The Commander shook his head. A few years ago...hell, even a year ago, he would have considered that   
fact to be incredible. Now, he prayed to the spirits of his ancestors that today's search wouldn't be for   
nothing.  
  
Soon, it seemed the Spirits had decided to answer.  
  
"Kahless..." A whispered expression came from B'Elanna's terminal, and Chakotay stiffened in his seat.  
  
"What? What is it?"  
  
He turned to B'Elanna, expecting the worst, but when he saw her she looked radiant.  
  
"I'm getting readings of human DNA," she reported, hands flying over her console. She looked at   
Chakotay with a huge smile.  
  
"I think it might be our officers."  
  
**** **** **** ****  
  
  
  
  
If there was one thing he truly hated - it was waiting.  
  
Tom had been waiting for over a month now, and he was tired of the responses he kept getting to his tests.  
  
It would end today, he promised, steadying his hand as held the dropper over the test culture. If he didn't   
make the drop just right...  
  
The serum hit the mixture in the dish beneath it right on target, immediately beginning to react with the   
compound into which it had been introduced. The mixture seemed to be responding positively, the culture   
turning from green to blue...to indigo...  
  
And then molecular cohesion began to degrade. Within moments, the hissing and popping had subsided   
and the mixture within the dish had completely burnt itself out.  
  
"Damn it!"  
  
Tom's fist connected with the lab bench's surface, upsetting everything on its top and knocking an empty   
beaker off of its edge. The glass shattered as it hit the floor.  
  
Tom sank his head into his hands, tearing off his spectacles and tossing them onto the bench in order to   
massage his throbbing temples. Negative. The hundredth test had been run...and the hundredth test had   
come out negative. His research was at a standstill.  
  
And that was where he was when Euran Bree'aje entered that morning carrying a breakfast tray.  
  
"Good morning, Tom," the older man greeted cheerily. He took in Tom's mood, his slumped shoulders and   
the empty culture dish that sat before him. "You're looking miserable today."  
  
Tom snorted, but didn't look up. His only greeting was an off-handed wave.  
  
Euran set the tray down with a sigh. "You never could just say a simple 'good morning'," he mumbled.   
Then he saw the shards of glass littering the floor.  
  
"We should just about be out of those by now, don't you think?" he asked referring to the beaker. "Break   
any more and we'll be mixing serums in our soup dishes."  
  
Tom released a frustrated sigh, but he did finally sit up.  
  
"It's hopeless," he said.  
  
And Euran chuckled.  
  
"Hopeless? You've been working on this serum for what?...a month now? And already you say it is   
hopeless?"  
  
Tom scowled at the man and limped to a nearby file cabinet, collecting what he needed.  
  
"No," he corrected. "I've been working on *five* serums now for *twelve* months and now I'm saying   
that this one is hopeless."  
  
Euran was amused - you had to be to keep sane in places like this where matters of life and death were a   
routine. But he sobered somewhat, when he saw Tom squinting as he perused the files in his hand. The   
strained expression that had appeared on his face continued even when he'd retrieved his spectacles.  
  
"You're having those headaches again, aren't you?"  
  
Tom didn't respond, but his silence spoke loud enough.  
  
"Perhaps you shouldn't have come in so early this morning." Then, seeing the sheepish look that crossed   
Tom's features, said, hotly, "Or should I say, perhaps you should have left last night altogether."  
  
"Euran..."  
  
"No." Bree'aje cut Tom off with a raised hand and a single syllable. He sat down in a chair near the   
window by which Tom stood - it was probably one of the only items of furniture in the whole room that   
wasn't hidden beneath piles of research equipment.  
  
  
"Those people out there aren't going to get any better any faster if you work yourself into an early grave."  
  
Tom winced, the meaning behind Euran's words clear - if he worked himself into an early grave those   
people out there wouldn't be getting better...period. Tom understood that more than anyone. The problem   
was - if he was their only hope, how could he rest until that hope was realized? He's been working on a   
cure for over a year now, non-stop, and still there was nothing. How could he sleep in the face of such   
failure?  
  
Euran watched him as he stared out the window. It was always disturbing seeing Tom like that - staring   
like he was, even though they both knew he couldn't see much further past the windowpane. It was a little   
eerie...as if he were seeing things that anyone else could only guess at. Euran turned away.  
  
He kept his tone carefully neutral. "Perhaps it would do you good to stay in for the day. You know? Go   
home...get a little rest...spend some time with your *wife*."  
  
He tried very hard not to sound persuasive, but Tom glared at him anyhow. It had long ago been   
established that the younger man didn't like discussing his personal life. What little he had of one, anyhow.   
For a while there, after the accident, it had been so touch and go...But finally, Tom had begun to accept his   
life. He and Lisave had begun to re-build their lives together...and then suddenly everything seemed to fall   
apart. It was rough for a while - Tom would come to the infirmary haggard and haunted and barely able to   
look anyone in the eyes. And now, Euran hardly even saw the couple together anymore, and he'd never   
been told why, although he could make several guesses.  
  
However, it was obvious that Tom wasn't interested in his guesses...or his advice.  
  
"I just need to make another trip into the Luari Moch'raen province. They're supposed to be getting in the   
next quarter's shipment early. There's some compounds I ordered that might be able to stabilize the effects   
of the S5 I've been experimenting with."  
  
Euran shook his head. "Tom, that trip takes at least a week. You've already been twice this quarter - you're   
going to wear yourself out."  
  
"I don't have any other choice. I need those compounds. If I can't get the S5 under control we'll have to   
scrap the whole project. It's got a rate of molecular dissolution worse than the first series we tried. But if I   
can get a handle on it we might be able figure out what to do about the S3's random holding patterns."  
  
Euran laughed. He'd been a doctor his whole life and a year ago this man had been telling him he didn't   
know anything about medicine. Now he was talking rings around the older physician, and Euran was   
happily struggling just to keep up.  
  
"Fine, fine. You're too stubborn for your own good. But I think Moch'raen can wait till tomorrow. Why   
don't you go home now and let me take the mid-level collections. You can go back to playing hero once   
you've had a little sleep."  
  
Tom smiled sheepishly and raised an eyebrow with a sigh.  
  
"And you call me stubborn. When are you going to stop coddling me, old man?"  
  
Euran raised a brow, as well. "When are you going to start taking better care of yourself so I don't have   
to?"  
  
Tom laughed. "Alright, alright." He grabbed his cane but left everything else as it was. Euran was right -   
he could use a little sleep, and if he took any of his work with him he knew he'd just end up right back at   
the lab.  
  
He exchanged a goodbye with Dr. Bree'aje as he left, but then found himself stopping at the door, suddenly   
overcome with some strange, strong feeling of contentment that he couldn't explain. Euran Bree'aje had   
become more than just a friend to him - he was like a father. And though Tom's true father had always   
been supportive of his son, Tom felt somehow as though he'd been looking for the sort of paternal approval   
he saw in Euran all of his life.  
  
"Doctor," he called out from the door, leaning back into the room. "I really do appreciate it. I owe you,   
you know." And then he was gone, and behind him, standing in the center of the room, stricken as though   
he'd been shot, Dr. Euran Bree'aje reeled with affection...and guilt.  
  
"No, Tom. It is I who owe you..."  
  
And he watched out the window as the young man walked away, feeling the weight of his sins heavy on his   
shoulders.  
  
  
  
  
  
**** **** **** ****  
  
  
  
"Just a little farther. I see the shuttle just up ahead."  
  
Chakotay chose his steps carefully, not wanting to lead his pregnant companion onto a path where she   
might fall and injure herself and the baby. It was strange seeing B'Elanna like this - maternal and round   
with child. Chakotay had always felt like he had a little sister in B'Elanna, an odd sensation for a man with   
no family left in the living world to compare her to. So this baby made him feel like an uncle. 'Uncle   
Chakotay,' he thought, smiling. Who'd have thought? Now if they could only find the baby's daddy, they'd   
be one nice, big...  
  
Chakotay's thoughts faded away. It seemed like the whole world faded away. Finally, they were there, in   
the clearing they'd been cutting their way towards through the brush. And there sat the shuttle, and beside   
it...  
  
Chakotay paled.  
  
B'Elanna, not noticing that her companion had stopped, ran right into him.   
  
"Chakotay, what the hell..."  
  
The Commander put his hands on her shoulders, at first, she believed, to help her regain her balance. But   
even after she had done so, he didn't let her go, didn't move.  
  
"Chakotay, are you going to tell me why..."  
  
And then she looked at his face, and she'd never felt such fear before in her entire life.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"B'Elanna..."  
  
"What_is_it?"  
  
When he didn't answer, she pushed by him, suddenly desperate to get to the shuttle.  
  
"B'Elanna, no! Wait..."  
  
And then she saw it, and both hands flew to her mouth.  
  
"Oh, Kahless!"  
  
And then she fainted.  



	6. Bad News

**** **** **** ****  
  
Chapter Five  
  
  
Captain Janeway didn't realize she'd been pacing her readyroom until the comm came through and she   
stopped.  
  
Tuvok's voice filtered through the channel: "Captain, we have an incoming message from the planet."  
  
Janeway smiled. 'At last.'  
  
"Patch it through, Mr. Tuvok," she ordered, and sat down at her desk, opening the terminal on its top just as   
Chakotay's face filled the screen.  
  
"Commander, I hope you have..." and then her words died away. If she'd been looking for good news, the   
expression on her XO's face had just told her that that search would be futile.  
  
"Chakotay, what is it?"  
  
To say the commander's face, his voice, were grim would be a simplification. "We've found the shuttle,   
Kathryn."  
  
Janeway thought she felt ill. Kathryn. Not Captain, just Kathryn - a bad sign.  
  
"We'll need to run some more scans on the crash site, but I think you should send down another team to do   
it. B'Elanna...I need to get her to Sickbay, Captain. She fainted."  
  
The Captain frowned. "Fainted?" Concern for her friend mixed with despair over the obvious. If what   
they found was bad enough to cause B'Elanna to faint...  
  
"Oh, Chakotay, what..."  
  
And then he moved and she saw it - the shuttle, bent and broken, lying in a twisted heap on the planetside.   
And beside it, two graves.  
  
"We've scanned them," he informed her, not needing to clarify the word 'them'.  
  
"And?"  
  
"They're both human."  



	7. ...playing with DNA...

"False Miracles"  
By Pari106  
  
(See Disclaimer in part I)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A few hours later, Captain Janeway was in Sickbay, standing with the Doctor beside B'Elanna where she was   
sleeping on a biobed, when the final scans were performed and the bodies exhumed from their graves and analyzed.  
  
Her commbadge trilled and she tapped it. "Janeway here," she said, sounding as weary as she felt. If Tom was in   
one of those graves down there, she'd rather face a fleet of Vidiians alone than wake her young engineer and tell her   
about it.  
  
Ensign Ashmore's voice answered back. "We've prepared the bodies for transport back to the ship, Captain."  
  
Janeway, in her distress, nodded, although she knew Ashmore couldn't see her.  
  
"Very well. Transport them to the lab as soon as you return to the ship."  
  
"Aye, Captain."  
  
With a nod, the Doctor left to prepare the lab for the autopsies, and Janeway pulled a chair out of his office to sit and   
keep vigil by B'Elanna's side.  
  
  
  
  
  
Yet a few hours later, the autopsies were complete, and the Doctor called the senior staff to a meeting – the entire   
senior staff, he told Janeway, assuring her it would be okay for B'Elanna to join. And so she did, looking paler and   
more distraught than any of them had ever seen her.  
  
"I've examined both the bodies found at the crash site," the Doctor reported. "And have confirmed what the scans   
performed planetside concluded: both bodies have human DNA."  
  
Janeway put a hand on B'Elanna's shoulder, silently offering any support the young woman needed. She tried to   
keep her voice strong as she asked, "So those were our men down there?"  
  
The Doctor sighed. "I've identified one of the bodies as being Mr. Darber's, yes."  
  
There was a moment of sad, silent reflection as the staff assimilated this information.  
  
"I'll inform the crew when we're done here," said the Captain.  
  
"And Tom?" Harry asked.  
  
Now the doctor's face took on a somewhat less grim appearance, and Janeway a little spark of hope begin to burn   
anew.  
  
"No. I am happy to report that Mr. Paris was not one of the bodies exhumed from the crash site."  
  
The room filled with relief, but also confusion.  
  
"If Mr. Paris was not one of the bodies found, then why do both bodies contain human DNA?" Tuvok asked.  
  
"I'm not sure," the doctor confided. "The second body was apparently caught in a fire that ensued after the Flyer II   
crashed. Its features are therefore hardly recognizable, but after performing a detailed analysis of the body's skeletal   
structure I can confirm that, whoever the man was, he was not Lieutenant Paris. Nor was he human. The   
differences between his cranial structure and that of a human's can attest to that."  
  
"Then what about his DNA?" Chakotay asked.  
  
The doctor shrugged. "Obviously it's been tampered with. I found traces of human DNA, yes. Enough of it, in   
fact, that preliminary scans of the body did register as human. However, beneath that, the second body we found on   
the planet has a distinctively alien biochemistry. I assume that whoever it was that took it upon themselves to bury   
those bodies down there, can also be thanked for playing with the second body's DNA sequence."  
  
"For what purpose?" Janeway questioned.  
  
"To take Tom," B'Elanna suddenly spoke. "Why? Why would someone who has the power to…do whatever it was   
they did with the DNA of the bodies down there need to kidnap Tom?" She knew she sounded paranoid and   
emotional, but she didn't care, and noone called her on being objective. It did appear as though someone had gone   
to an awful lot of trouble to make them think that that was Tom that had been buried down there.  
  
"And why even bother resequencing the DNA at all?" Kim asked. "They'd have to know we'd be able to tell from   
the skeletal structure that that body wasn't human."  
  
Again the doctor shrugged. "Perhaps they didn't expect us to exhume the bodies. Maybe they supposed we'd stop   
at a scan."  
  
"Or perhaps they were just trying to buy themselves some time," Janeway interceded. She looked from one of her   
officers to the other, capturing their attention.  
  
"It's obvious we're no longer dealing with a simple case of a shuttle crash here, people. Someone's obviously made   
an effort here to trick us into giving up our search for Mr. Paris. Now we need to discover who that someone is,   
why they've abducted Mr. Paris, and, more importantly, where they've taken him."   
  
Around the table, everyone nodded their assent.   
  
"Commander Chakotay, Mr. Tuvok and I are going to take the next shuttle down to the planet. We'll be scanning   
for lifesigns this time. Hopefully, whoever's got Tom hasn't altered his DNA as well. You'll have the ship while   
we're gone." Chakotay nodded.  
  
"Mr. Kim, you're with us. Tuvok, we'd better take a couple of your security officers, as well." Tuvok nodded, as   
well, and the group filed out.  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  



	8. hope-clouded delusions

False Miracles, part 7  
by pari106  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.pari106.homestead.com/index2.html  
  
Disclaimer: See First Chapter.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
A/N: I realize this chapter goes a little off the beaten path, but here I had Tom Paris is the whole different, alien   
existence…and I had to explore it a little bit. So let me know if this is all just a little too weird.  
  
  
  
False Miracles, part 7  
  
  
  
As it turned out, Tom didn't leave that next day for the Moch'raen as he'd planned. Instead, he was woken later that   
evening by a steady pounding on his domicile's door. He immediately feared the worst – a problem at the lab; a   
problem with a patient. Had something happened to Dr. Bree'aje? His fears turned out to be for naught, however.  
  
Tom stumbled to the door, dressing as he went and trying to be quiet so that he didn't disturb Lisave. Once there, he   
was met by a young boy whose family was one of the few in the colony to maintain their business holdings – so   
many of the others had simply abandoned their homes and offices to migrate away from the infirmaries, of which   
there were now two – one at each end of the settlement. Tom recalled the boy's name was Kierran – he'd offered,   
occasionally, to do the odd job or two around the lab.  
  
"What is it, Kierran," he asked, trying to focus on the adolescent's face in the darkness.  
  
"It's your brother, Doctor. He's at the Gathering again, and Ceelam can't get him to leave. He's gone senseless."  
  
Tom frowned, closing the door behind him.  
  
"Darmask?" he asked, and Kierran nodded, nervous. They began to make their way quickly across the settlement.  
  
"I know the two of you haven't been on good terms lately, but I didn't know who else to go to. Someone has to do   
something – Ceelam's threatening to contact the Mediators."  
  
Tom grimaced. That was just what they needed right now – attention from the Luari Council. A Mediation in the   
colony would fare badly at the Division's Review. Tom put a hand on Kierran's shoulder.  
  
"It's okay – you did the right thing," then he smiled, one eyebrow raising. "And I don't want to know why *you*   
were at the Gathering anyhow."  
  
Kierran blushed, and Tom laughed. The kid was only fifteen years old, but it was only at moments like this that   
Kierran actually looked his age. It was good to see.  
  
They reached the large, wooden building that served as the colony's meeting hall, auditorium, and – most nights – as   
the colony's only establishment that resembled what off-worlders might call a "bar". Through the open door at the   
front, Tom could just make out Darmask's slumped form at a table near the service counter, downing another glass   
of something mean looking while the barkeep looked on warily. Tom nodded, and Kierran left. Then Tom took a   
deep breath…and walked in.  
  
For some time, Tom had wondered what a reunion with his brother might be like. Since the heated argument they'd   
had two quarters ago, they hadn't spoken, nor had they parted in a way that guaranteed that they would ever speak   
again. Tom felt as though he wasn't the sort to hold a grudge, but the argument had hit uncomfortably close to   
home, and Darmask, unlike his brother, most certainly did hold grudges. Since he'd spent the last six months   
spending entirely too much time in places like the Gathering, Tom supposed he should have expected they'd have   
their talk here, if anywhere, but he wasn't relishing a confrontation with a drunk, angry Darmask.  
  
Tom approached his brother's table, wondering what he would say; how he would announce himself. Then   
Darmask saved him from having to do so.  
  
"Isn't there any sick people hanging around, somewhere, waiting for you to help them?" he muttered, in way of a   
greeting. Tom smiled, for the first time realizing how Euran must feel working with him.  
  
"I see somebody who needs my help right here," he replied, calmly, taking a seat across the table from his brother.  
  
Darmask kind of snorted.  
  
"Who says I need your help?"  
  
Tom was unfazed by the hostility. "The Mediation Committee, for one," he replied, his casual tone at odd with the   
serious statement.  
  
That got Darmask's attention.  
  
He looked up from his drink sharply.  
  
"Mediators…"  
  
"Haven't been contacted…yet," Tom told him, now reaching across the table to take his brother's glass away.   
Whether the man was simply too drunk to stop him, or too startled over what he'd just told him, he didn't know.   
"But they will be," he continued, "If you give Ceelam over there any more trouble."  
  
Darmask laughed, but it was a half-hearted attempt, if anything.  
  
"Ceelam wouldn't dare."  
  
Tom didn't say anything, but with the look on his face he supposed he didn't have to. And a glance at the displeased   
bartended some feet away confirmed the same.  
  
Tom sighed. "Come on, brother. You had to know that this would happen if you kept on like you have been. What   
did you think was going to happen?"  
  
The threat of a mediation had taken some of the fight out of the other man, but there was still too much anger and   
pain there to make room for cooperation.  
  
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he muttered, reaching again for his glass, and glaring daggers   
when Tom again moved it out of his reach.  
  
"I know what day it is," Tom answered solemnly. And the soft, certain statement froze Darmask where he sat.  
  
He couldn't even manage the effort to try and laugh it off.  
  
"I don't…"  
  
"I think you do," Tom insisted. He looked his would-be brother in the eyes. "What I want to know," he continued,   
"Is why my brother is sitting here, drinking himself to death, on the anniversary of my child's death."  
  
The silence that permeated the air at Tom's statement was suffocating. And Tom didn't know what was more   
uncomfortable – that or the pain of speaking of his child for the first time in nearly an entire division.  
  
Darmask stared at him cooly. Numbly.  
  
"Maybe because it wasn't your child," he said simply, and left.  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
The next thing Darmask knew, he was lying on the ground with a bloody lip.  
  
He'd made it just outside the Gathering when Tom stopped him. Or, rather, his fist did.  
  
Resigned to the fate he had sealed by betraying his only brother, Darmask steeled himself for more blows. But they   
never came.  
  
"Get up," he heard Tom say, his voice low and rough and dangerous.  
  
Darmask didn't move, wondering why he wasn't getting the shit kicked out of him already.  
  
"I said, get up!" Tom ordered, and Darmask finally found himself stumbling to his feet.  
  
He should have known his brother, benevolent doctor that he was, wouldn't kick a man when he was down. He'd   
wait for him to stand and then he'd kill him.  
  
Alas, Tom did no such thing.  
  
Tom paced a moment, trying to reign in all the dark emotions filling his brain before they could explode, and he   
along with them. He paced, seeing red, seeing nothing. Trying not to look at his brother for fear that the sight   
would push him over the edge.  
  
Even now, fists that had never been used for anything other than healing, clenched ad unclenched, looking for a   
target. Surprisingly, though, they didn't feel unused to the sensation. He felt as though he'd felt such rage before;   
as though he'd given in to it before. Too many times. And he felt a disturbing calm at the thought of giving in to it   
now; of hurting instead of healing. He was angry at Darmask for that; for making him feel that.  
  
Oddly enough, it was one of the only two things he was angry at Darmask for. That and his betrayal. For some   
reason, the very thought of being betrayed by a family member filled Tom with such despair that it shook him,   
leaving him with the puzzling feeling that he'd suffered such betrayal before. The fact that Darmask had betrayed   
him with Lisave didn't seem half as disturbing somehow – it was wrong, but true. He and Lisave hadn't had a true   
relationship for as long as he could remember. And beneath the façade of the adoring wife that Lisave had crafted   
so well, Tom had suspected as much from her. Perhaps he'' even suspected Darmask. Wasn't' that what he'd been   
getting at back there at the Gathering?   
  
Somehow suspecting it and hearing it, straight from Darmask, were two different things.  
  
And to hear that the child had been a part of it all…  
  
Tom felt a wave of emotions wash over him so strong it nearly brought him to his knees. Most of them were   
remembered. He didn't remember much of his life before the abduction, but he remembered having loved his   
unborn child with all his heart. He remembered having loved its mother. Their separation seemed to have changed   
her; them, their marriage. But it hadn't changed his feelings for the child. He'd loved it. It had been his future; his   
link to the past; proof that, even if he and Lisave no longer loved one another now, that they had known love before.   
It had been his child…  
  
But it hadn't. Now Tom knew it hadn't. When Lisave had lost the baby…it had torn at him. He was a doctor.   
Great Giving-Ones…he was a *doctor*. And he couldn't keep his own wife well enough to carry their child to   
term?  
  
He'd mourned the child. Mourned it still…mourned even if it hadn't been his own. Because he'd loved it. He   
remembered that, if nothing else.  
  
Darmask hadn't changed that.  
  
But his memories of loving the child's mother were different. The fact that he held no such feelings for his lawful   
wife now hadn't been enough to dispel Tom's belief that he had loved her once. After all, he remembered loving   
her. Well, not her, exactly. But he remembered loving. Loving so strongly he was consumed with it. He   
remembered asking her to marry him. Leaning in close to her…catching her scent…wanting her so badly it hurt.   
He was still pumped up with the adrenaline of battle and of asking the single most important question of their lives.  
  
"I thought you were only asking because we were about to die," she'd said.  
  
He'd smiled. He'd loved her and hurt for her insecurity and smiled. "I'm still asking," he told her. Asking the   
single most important person…  
  
But wait.  
  
No, that wasn't right.  
  
'…battle…question….about to die…'  
  
Pain lanced through Tom's temples. He grabbed his head, shaking with the sudden searing heat that arched through   
him, sending blood rushing to his ears.  
  
'What the…'  
  
He was getting confused, mixed up. He was upsetting himself into having those old hallucinations again.  
  
He tried to calm himself down. 'Breathe, Tom…come on, breathe…'  
  
He'd never loved Lisave. All those old memories were just hope-clouded delusions, he realized that now. Those   
things had never happened, had they? And even if they had, how could he stand her now? She'd obviously never   
felt for him, never cared…  
  
And to tell him that it was his…  
  
"…but it's a girl, right?" he heard himself asking, in the recesses of mind and memory. A strange voice, a man's   
voice, was answering…but Tom didn't hear him…  
  
Tom clutched his head and screamed.  
  
Darmask watched. "She told you it was conceived before the abduction, didn't she?" he asked then. He stood there,   
still waiting for an attack to come, hoping for it. He watched Tom's pain and anger with sorrow and self-hatred.  
  
"She told me we couldn't tell you. Couldn't risk a reconscription…"  
  
Tom swore. Reconscription…he hadn't even thought of it. The participants of a badly failed marriage, or an   
unauthorized affair, were always relocated. And in cases like these, in the Luari society…a society that condemned   
infidelity as a detriment to the continuation of the species…in a community, such as theirs, where disease ate at the   
population, making the propagation of the species paramount…Tom blanched. Could he do that? To Lisave, even   
after all she'd done. Could he do that to his own brother?  
  
"It wasn't supposed to happen," Darmask was saying, the eternal lament of the unfaithful. "You were gone…we   
thought you were dead…so alone. Lisave went nuts…she really…" Darmask's face seemed to crumple and he   
actually began to cry. "I thought she really…cared. That she…that she needed…"  
  
He stopped, just stopped. Couldn't speak for several moments. And through his own dark feelings, Tom noticed his   
brother's torment.  
  
He hadn't loved Lisave. But Darmask must obviously have felt something for her. It was evident in his face, his   
defeated posture. Tom couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. And she'd obviously had no more concern for the   
feelings of Darmask Yaden than she had for Tom Paris…  
  
Finally Darmask was recovering himself.  
  
"She didn't want to tell you, so I went along with it. I didn't want to make her mad. Didn't want…hurt the baby…"  
  
Darmask was drunk, sick from it, and at the end of a long string of sobs, but Tom heard him. And the words chilled   
him as a thought suddenly occurred.  
  
"Darmask…"  
  
Tom looked at his brother. Really looked at him. Yet all he could see was the child that had never been.  
  
"Did she…"  
  
He didn't even have to ask. Darmask didn't have to tell him.  
  
Tom turned and headed home.  
  
And Darmask didn't try to stop him.  



End file.
